Time seemed to freeze.
Doflamingo stared at the wild, arrogant grin in front of him. Behind the dark lenses, his eyes flickered—dazed, momentarily empty—his body locked in place.
Darren's rough, calloused hand messed up his hair without resistance… and for the first time in a long time, something unfamiliar bloomed in his chest.
A strange, indescribable—almost intolerable—sense of security.
It's not your turn yet…
Those words echoed over and over, rolling through his mind like thunder that refused to fade.
And without meaning to, Doflamingo remembered his father.
Mediocre. Selfish. Naive. So painfully, stupidly confident.
"Doffy… everyone is equal. There's no difference between Celestial Dragons and ordinary people."
"If you treat others with kindness, they'll return it."
"Even if we're no longer Celestial Dragons, we can still live happily."
"We'll make our own happiness—with our own hands."
"Don't worry. I'll protect you."
…
"Doffy… Rosinante… I'm sorry. Your father's useless. I still haven't found work… but tomorrow I will."
"Relax. If it comes to it, I'll work at the docks. We won't starve."
…
"Someone stole my wages… We'll eat leftovers today."
…
"Doffy, Rosinante… you're both men now. Why don't you go out together and find food?"
"Doctor… but we don't have any money…"
…
"D-Doffy… why are you doing this? I'm your father!"
…
"So that's it… you've hated me all this time."
"I'm sorry. Go on, then. Take my head… trade it for the wealth, power, and status you want."
…
The memories spun like a lantern wheel, flashing so fast his eyes stung. Blood vessels threatened to burst at his temples; the whites of his eyes tinged red.
And then, in that blur, the face he had always wanted to crush with his own hands… suddenly didn't feel as hateful.
Tch…
Slap!
Doflamingo violently knocked Darren's hand away, twisting his face aside. His voice turned cold, and the familiar sinister laugh crawled out of his throat.
"You're the one underestimating me, Godfather."
He planted his hands on the window frame and stared out at the Holy Land—peaceful, radiant, overflowing with wealth that made the world feel like a joke.
"I've never doubted what you can do," he said quietly. "But I won't tolerate you doubting what I can do."
"You act your way. I'll act mine."
Crack!
His fingers tightened. The wooden frame splintered in his grip as if it were rotten.
His gaze burned into Mary Geoise—into Pangaea Castle—into everything that had ever looked down on him.
"When I've destroyed all of this," he rasped, voice steeped in murder, "when I'm standing on the corpses of every Celestial Dragon and the ruins of their world…"
His lips curled.
"…then I'll tear your head off personally."
As he spoke, something in him shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible.
Like a beast that had finally learned to think.
The claws didn't vanish. They slid deeper—hidden, sharpened, waiting.
Darren felt it instantly. His strengthened Observation Haki caught every tremor in Doflamingo's heart, every change in his aura—and instead of displeasure, satisfaction spread across his face.
"Good," Darren said softly. "That's the resolve I wanted."
He turned and walked toward the main entrance.
"Keep getting stronger, Doffy."
His voice was casual… but the weight behind it was merciless.
"Taking my head will be harder than destroying the World Government."
He pushed the massive doors open.
Warm sunlight flooded in, swallowing him whole—casting a long shadow that stretched across the hall and completely covered Doflamingo.
Doflamingo's eyes followed that back instinctively.
"Fail again. Stumble again," Darren said, not even looking over his shoulder. "It doesn't matter."
Then he turned—just enough to meet Doflamingo's gaze—and the smile he gave him was almost gentle.
"As your Godfather, I'll be standing at the top of the world…"
"Waiting for you."
His eyes gleamed.
"Come and kill me."
Whoosh.
His figure vanished into the light like a mirage, leaving no trace behind—no presence, no warmth, nothing.
Doflamingo stood there for a long time, unmoving, as if his body had forgotten how to breathe.
Finally, he exhaled.
"Fine," he murmured, and a smile crept onto his lips.
Strangely… the usual violent glare in his eyes had dulled.
Not gone.
Just… quieter.
He shook his head once, forcing the storm of thoughts back into order, then walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open.
The uniform inside hung perfectly—red and black, trimmed in gold. Shoulder epaulettes shaped like wheat stalks. Cold, iron-blooded dignity stitched into every line. Black boots and belt polished to a harsh shine.
The Knights of God.
And those golden wheat-stalk epaulettes…
Vice Commander.
Putting it on meant accepting everything he'd wanted since childhood.
Putting it on meant those Celestial Dragons who had scorned him would grovel at his feet, trembling.
And yet—
"This isn't enough."
He dressed slowly, precisely, fastening each golden button as if sealing an oath. Belt secured. Boots pulled on. He stared into the mirror.
A golden-haired youth looked back—taller now, sharper, wrapped in authority and restraint. No joy on his face. Only a cold, detached intensity.
"This isn't nearly enough."
He draped the pink feather coat over his shoulders.
Then Donquixote Doflamingo—Vice Commander of the Knights of God—walked out of his mansion.
Outside the gates, a lavish carriage waited. CP agents in black suits stood in formation. A squad of Holy Land Guards—twenty men in silver armor—held their spears like statues.
"Excellency Doflamingo!"
"Please, take the carriage!"
A government official in ornate robes approached, smiling so hard it bordered on panic.
Doflamingo glanced at him and chuckled.
"Heh heh heh… no need."
"A certain man once taught me something."
"That in the end… you walk your path alone."
Before anyone could react, he sprang into the air.
He soared toward the Stairway to Heaven beneath the blazing sun, pink coat billowing behind him—feathered wings brilliant and dazzling.
Like a flamingo reborn from fire.
To be continued...